On Death

Photo by RODNAE Productions

Death has chosen to visit my family twice this year.

Being a sheltered child growing up, I have little experience of the harsh realities of life.

I have never had to take hard decisions.

I have never had to be strong for other people.

So, when I had to support my mother emotionally as she lost two of the closest people in the family — her mother and her sister — I didn’t know how to do it.

Nobody tells you how painful loss is. Probably because the pain is indescribable.

How can I put into words the hopelessness I feel when the photo of my loved one is so lifelike that they might step out of it and greet me with a smile?

Nobody told me I’d be replaying conversations in my head…holding on to the sound of their voice.

Death is final. Brutal.

It leaves you with guilt and regret. Perhaps I should have called more often. Perhaps I could have visited more frequently.

The tears dry up eventually, but what of the throbbing pain in my heart?

Death is inevitable. Yet we are never quite prepared for it.

Memories have a tendency to weaken the more you try to hold on to them. Nothing makes sense anymore.

As I try to lift myself out of the wellspring of despondence, I turn to the only thing that brings comfort — writing.

To write is to come to terms with life and its realities.